Get Dirty With Me
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. Oneshot. Carol always seemed to have a way of making Daryl do what she wanted him to do, but he never really regretted it.


**AN: This is just a light little oneshot written for the tumblr prompt "dirty dancing" by therealsonia.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You know, you might actually enjoy some things if you'd just try them and not decide that you didn't like them before they even started," Carol said.

There was a great deal of irritation in her voice, but Daryl had found that he was pretty good at tuning that out when he wanted to be. He watched her as she stomped around their house—from the living room to the kitchen and back—and kept her hands busy moving things from one place to another without any real focus behind the actions. It was what she did any time that she was annoyed and didn't know what to do with her irritation.

"I know I'm not gonna like pole dancing, Carol," Daryl said. "I don't have to even think about it."

"It's _not_ pole dancing!" Carol growled from the kitchen.

"Strip teasing or whatever the hell it is," Daryl said. "I don't have to give it a chance, Carol. I know that shit ain't for me."

Carol stomped back into the living room—because that was really the only way to describe how she was choosing to walk about—and stood with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"You said you wanted us to do something together," Carol said. "You wanted us to come up with some things to do together because we don't spend enough time together. Those were your words, Daryl. I'm not putting them into your mouth. You said that, with the kids out of the house, we needed to come up with something that just the two of us could do together."

Daryl laughed to himself.

She had him on that. He _had_ said that. It was mostly owing to an article he read—one that proclaimed that people of their age enjoyed their marriages more when they shared hobbies—but it didn't exactly tie into the conversation at hand.

"I was talkin' about—fixing something up," Daryl said. "Coming up with something we could do together that we both enjoy. Not about dancing. And certainly not about doing some strip teasing shit. I wasn't going to suggest we start rebuilding a motor together because I know you don't like that kind of thing. I didn't expect you to come in here wanting me to do some strip teasing shit either."

"It's _not_ strip teasing!" Carol declared. "It's not strip teasing and it's not pole dancing and it's not—it's not even _exotic_ dancing, Daryl. You're not losing any of your clothes or...or any of your dignity...or even any of your _manhood_."

Carol stomped back into the kitchen with the same determination that she'd been using to move about before and then she stomped right back into the living room to toss the stapled together pile of papers into his lap that she'd been waving at him since this whole thing had, somehow, blossomed into a full-fledged marital spat.

Daryl picked the stapled pile of papers up and looked at the page that the packet was open to. Carol had highlighted the title of the class with a yellow marker. She'd picked up the stack from the recreation center down town and she'd been looking over it for two days while she tried to decide, evidently, what rare form of torture she wanted to subject Daryl to.

"Dirty Dancing for Beginners," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "Says right there in the title that it's dancing and it's dirty and that don't sound like my cup of tea."

Carol sighed and walked over to the chair that Daryl tended to think of as "her" chair. She sat down in it and rested her elbows on her legs. She leaned toward him like she was either going to tell him the greatest secret of their entire marriage or like she intended to psychoanalyze him for at least an hour. At this point, Daryl wasn't really sure which to expect.

"Didn't you ever watch the movie, Daryl? Dirty Dancing with Patrick Swayze?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself and tasted the beer that he'd been nursing for the past hour.

"I believe you got me confused with Andrea again," Daryl said. "'Cause that don't sound like my kinda movie no more than this sounds like my kinda dancing. Mighta been Merle, though. Asshole has always liked a good striptease."

Carol raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"And you're really going to say you don't?" Carol asked.

Daryl felt his cheeks run warm. He'd never been to a strip club, despite the numerous times that his brother had tried to drag him to one, but he _had_ seen the strippers that Merle had hired for both of their bachelor parties. And, after that, he might have asked Carol—once or twice—to entertain him.

"That's different," Daryl offered.

"You're right," Carol said. "It _is_ different. Dirty dancing is not stripping, Daryl. Stripping is stripping. Dirty dancing is like—the tango. It's like...well...I don't know what it's like. Not all the dances. But that's why I want to take the class! These are romantic dances, Daryl. _Sensual_ dances."

Daryl rolled his eyes in her direction.

"If you're trying to win me over," Daryl pointed out, "it don't seem to be taking. I think you're forgetting that the last time I danced, Sophia was wearing white."

"And you danced very well with her," Carol said.

"One...two...three...four," Daryl responded. "It weren't that hard. But that's about the extent of my swaying around the dance floor."

"It would just be for us," Carol said. "We probably wouldn't know anyone else in the class. They're probably all old farts from the senior center."

"Careful," Daryl warned. "We're a couple birthdays away from being old farts at the senior center ourselves."

"The point is that it would just be for us," Carol said. "And you'd probably like it. You might even love it." She wagged her eyebrows at him and a little smirk played at her lips. Daryl wasn't entirely unfamiliar with that expression either. "I might even make it really, _really_ worth your while."

Daryl swallowed down a little more of the lukewarm beer from the bottle.

"What makes you think I'd even like something like this?" Daryl asked.

Carol got up from her chair and walked over to Daryl's. She swept her hand through the air at him and he moved his hands so that she could sit in his lap. She sat down on his legs and leaned into him, like she often did, and kissed his cheek before she answered his question.

"Because it's like—making love, Daryl. It's dancing that's like—making love. Standing up. With your clothes on." She rubbed her hand on his chest, over his shirt, and trailed her fingers up to play with the neck of his shirt. He shivered when they made contact with the skin just under where his shirt fell. Carol kissed Daryl's face again and then trailed the soft kisses over to his jaw. He shivered when she licked his earlobe. She giggled in his ear because she knew exactly what the hell she was doing and she knew that he was defenseless against it unless he was truly pissed off—and he wasn't anywhere near pissed off enough to ignore her. "You like making love with me, don't you, Daryl?"

Daryl swallowed and adjusted himself, bringing Carol with him, against the discomfort that she was causing him.

"I don't understand what's wrong with the way we do it," Daryl said. "Don't see—what's wrong with the traditional way of doin' it."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Carol said. "I think—it's very right."

"Then why the hell you wanna do it standing up? With your clothes on? In front of a bunch of old farts from the senior center?" Daryl asked.

"Because it's something new," Carol said. "It's exciting. And just think about—everything it'll _bring up_ that we might want to do when we're at home. And we don't have to wear clothes at home. There are no old farts here except us."

Carol laughed at her own joke, but another shiver ran through Daryl because he was already too far gone from her teasing and now everything she did was going to affect him more than he probably wanted it to at the moment.

"I don't think we have any problems with that," Daryl said. "Do you?"

"No," Carol said. "But it could be a really great way to spend time together. We learn something new. We get some exercise and—then? We come home to get a little more? Why are you so against this, Daryl?"

"I don't know, Carol," Daryl said. "Hell—I don't even think I like dancing and I don't know that this would be anything I'd like to do."

"Would you try with me?" Carol asked. "Here? Now? Just—playing around?" Daryl growled at her and Carol pulled her face back so that she could hold his eyes with hers. She shook her head gently. "If you try it, and you don't like it now? Then I promise you that I'll drop the subject. We'll pick something else. You can pick something."

"What the hell do I have to do?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled her little victory smile and got to her feet. She held a hand out to Daryl.

"Just stand up," she said. "Dance with me. Right here in our living room. That's all you have to do."

Daryl stood up, but he tried to make it clear that he wasn't at all pleased with what he was being forced into. As soon as he was on his feet, Carol tugged him into the center of the room and she pressed her body against him. She laughed to herself and grinned at him. He raised his eyebrows at her in question.

"Feels like you're at least a _little_ interested," Carol said.

"You knew what the hell you were doing," Daryl responded. Her smile only widened.

"Now hold my hand," Carol said, offering her hand to Daryl. He took it. "Put your hand on my back." Daryl did as he was told and Carol let go of his hand long enough to readjust his hand so that it was on her ass.

"You said put my hand on your back," Daryl said. "If you'da said grab my ass, then I'da known where you wanted it."

"Follow my lead," Carol said, choosing to ignore his comment.

Daryl tried awkwardly to do that, but he wasn't sure they were getting anywhere. He wasn't sure, either, that he'd call what they were doing _dancing_. Carol pulled him around in a circle in the living room and rubbed herself against him, but it didn't feel like dancing.

In spite of himself, though, Daryl was laughing by the time he finally held her tight and stopped her attempts to turn them around in one direction or another.

"This is the weirdest damn dance I believe they ever invented," Daryl said.

Carol laughed at him, but she didn't pull away from the hold that he had on her.

"I don't exactly know how to do it," Carol said. "That's what the class would be for. But you have to admit—you're enjoying yourself, Daryl. I know you are. I see it."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head at her, not trying to erase the smile that had come up even though he'd fought it for the first part of her impromptu dance lesson.

"I am," Daryl said. "But—what's not to like? You're rubbing all over me like that. And I was already kinda in the mood for it."

"So you'd like the class," Carol said. "We can learn how to do it properly. Maybe we could go out dancing sometime? Outside of the class." Daryl hummed in disagreement with her.

"I ain't interested in going out somewhere to make an ass out of myself," Daryl pointed out.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"Then maybe we just dance in our living room," Carol said. "Just like we're doing now. Come on, Daryl. It'll be fun. It'll be romantic. And we'll be spending time together." She bit her lip between her teeth, but her smile was still there. "And when we come home? Maybe it'll even inspire something even more exciting than a regular Saturday night."

Daryl laughed to himself. He felt the blood rush to his face—a welcomed change at the moment from where it had been pooling—and he shook his head.

"I don't know if we can improve on that too much," he said.

"But it could be fun to try," Carol said. She swayed her body and Daryl, who had relaxed from trying to hold her still, swayed with her. "Come on—get _dirty_ with me, Daryl?"

Daryl sucked in a breath.

"It might not be so bad," Daryl said. "Maybe we could try it." Carol swayed his body again with the little rock-step-victory-dance that she launched into. "But if I don't like it," Daryl said. "Then we stop it and we just go back to the old fashioned way."

Carol laughed and nodded her head. She sighed overdramatically for flair.

"Fine," Carol said. "If we don't like it, then we don't have to keep going."

"Fine," Daryl agreed. "Now—let's go to the bedroom."

"What?" Carol asked.

"Bedroom," Daryl said. "You said that's how this dirty dancing shit would end. And I danced with you. So put your money where your mouth is, woman. Let's go. To the bedroom."

Carol laughed at him and nodded her head. She moved away from him, but she kept her hold on one of his hands.

"OK," Carol said. "That's fair. We'll go to the bedroom."

Daryl smiled to himself as he followed her, while she tugged him along, to the bedroom.

"That's more my style right there," he teased. "Good and old fashioned."

Carol hummed at him.

"I don't know," Carol said. "All that talk about stripping and...I mean I do it for you. When you want. I think—it'd only be fair to see what you've got. See what I'm missing out on."

"No damn way," Daryl said. He swallowed at the familiar gnawing feeling in his gut. He knew—and he knew that Carol knew it too—that once she set her mind to something, she always seemed to have a way of talking him into it.

"Come on, Daryl," Carol said. "Let's see what you've got. Be dirty for me. And I promise—when it's all off? I'll be dirty for you too."

Carol turned around to look at him, just long enough to wink at him, and Daryl thought that it was ridiculous that no matter how long they'd been together, she still had a way of making him go absolutely lightheaded.

And she always had a way of getting of what she wanted. Even though, honestly, Daryl couldn't remember a time that he'd ever regretted giving into her.

Daryl had a feeling that this time wasn't going to be any different either.


End file.
